


Give me a thousand kisses

by little_ogre



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Ficlet, Kisses, M/M, Short One Shot, jane eyre au, kiss prompt, sneaky tiny bonus billy/ vasquez kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-08-20 12:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20228233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_ogre/pseuds/little_ogre
Summary: Collection of tumblr kiss prompts, archived here. Each chapter is a prompt.





	1. 21- a kiss on a place of insecurity

Billy was unafraid of most things, which was a nice change for Goodnight, who was. He was afraid of his nightmares, of owls, of dying a ghastly death, and the dreadful sound of gunfire. However he wasn’t afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he made no secret of his genuine admiration for Billy; and when that admiration, and with it their relationship, turned into something warmer and more intimate he wasn’t afraid of that either. 

But Billy, who bravely faced down things that had Goodnight cowering, guarded his feelings closer than a fistful of gold dust and it took a long time for Goodnight to figure out that Billy might feel as keenly as anyone but as brave and rough and tumble as he was, he was mortally afraid of showing it. Coaxing Billy out of his shell became one of his greatest joys and every crumb of emotion Billy felt secure enough to share with him was more precious than any of his own grand words. The first time Goody said “I love you” Billy turned pink like a sunset and buried his head in the pillows, muttering something incoherent that nevertheless was clear to Goody.

“Don’t worry cherié,” he whispered and dropped a kiss over Billy’s secret, beating heart. “I won’t tell a soul.” And Billy didn’t say a word, but instead pulled him closer, and when he returned the gesture he knew they understood each other.


	2. 24- a kiss in danger

“Cher?” Goody said, hastily closing the door and leaning his back against. It. “I so hate to disturb you, but we have a mob.”

Billy sighed, he hated mobs.

“Is it a big one?” he asked, as Goody locked the door and started pushing the chest of drawers in front of it.

“Ah, you know, middle sized, middle sized.” Goody said as he started pushing the iron bed frame in front of the chest of drawers.

“I hope they don’t have torches,” Billy said glumly. “I hate those.”

“No torches,” Goodnight said. “Shotguns though, maybe a little bit.” He opened the window, and with great difficulty heaved a mattress through, followed by their bedclothes. Billy looked at him suspiciously. When he had gone up to their room and hour ago everything had been fine. There hadn’t even been that much bad blood around the competition today, the final challenger grinning and saying it had been fine work.

“What did you do?” he asked and Goody looked at him startled, and maybe a little bit shifty.

“Nothing! And anyway it was _mostly_ a misunderstanding.”

Billy crossed his arms and watched Goody throw their saddlebags out through the window.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

Goody sat down on the window sill and swung one leg over it.

“It was a misunderstanding, but possibly,  _ possibly _ , I might have gotten caught in the hayloft with the Mayor’s sister in a compromising position.” He shrugged helplessly towards Billy.

“You what?”

“As I said, it was mostly a misunderstanding.”

“It had  _ better _ been. And you explain yourself real fast or I’ll throw you to the mob myself!”

“Billy!” Goodnight exclaimed, reaching out his hands “You know I would never… It was just, it was only….”

“Yes?” Billy asked impatiently.

“Well you see, I was in the general store and offered to walk her to her wagon, she complained about it getting late you see and she mentioned that she’d lost her gloves and I couldn’t be so churlish as not to help her look, and I asked where she’d them last and…”

Billy blew air through his mouth in a big disappointed sound. “And she said the hayloft? Really, Goody.”

“I didn’t see any reason not to believe her! Only, when we got there she sort of, ahem, sort of, launched herself. At me. And you _know_ I have weak knees!”

“Goodnight, I swear to god” Billy said, rolling his eyes to his uttermost ability as he joined Goody at the window sill.

“Billy?” Goodnight said softly, “It really wasn’t my fault. I would never…” His eyes sought Billy, full of heartfelt emotion and Billy felt the corner of his mouth twitch in response.

“I know,” he murmured and lowered his head at the same time as there was an insistent pounding on the door. “Philanderer” Seducer! Preyer upon the innocent!" somebody shouted.

Billy threw a quick look over his shoulder before he bent down and kissed Goodnight, wet and open mouthed, with enough teeth and tongue that Goody was misty-eyed and panting when they parted, one of Billy’s hands around the back of his neck and the other resting snugly on the inside of his knee. “I know Goody,” Billy repeated softly and rested his forehead against Goody’s for a second, their breaths sweetly mingling.

“That does not mean I’m not getting back at you, you idiot.” he said, before neatly tipping Goodnight out through the window, where he fell onto the mattress and pile of bed clothes with a startled yelp.

“I had designs on that bed Goodnight! Ideas. Involved ones” he shouted and jumped, just as the door behind him burst open and red-faced man, a priest and two stout matronly ladies fell through it. Billy blew them a kiss as he raced after Goodnight into the night towards the stable. As far as mobs had gone, it really could have been worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goody is very good at acting like an innocent victim of circumstance here but like, you know he totally flirted outrageously with that poor lady, kissing her hand and calling her a sweet magnolia in the breeze.


	3. 9 - a kiss in public

Billy might not have Goodnight’s genius for working a crowd but he can certainly drum up a decent amount of enthusiasm for the sharp-shooting competition they have working at the moment. They are at the border of Kansas and have left Goodnight’s famous name behind for this one, instead taking advantage of his anonymity to take home some money on target practice. Its gone to the final round, Goody against an unexpected contender a young family girl, standing with stable form in her crinoline and corset, long braid wound around her head. She is good but Billy has no doubt that Goody is better, as long as he doesn’t black out (as he sometimes does, desperately trying to hide it, but Billy has eyes and ears and he sees and he knows). Targets are two playing cards nailed to the wall at 60 paces and the shots ring out. Billy runs to collect them and triumphantly holds up Goody’s card, the king of hearts, pierced through the dead center. The girl is the ace of spades and the round hole is two fingers off center. She _is_ good, Billy concedes.

As he’s holding the cards up somebody shouts “King of Hearts! A kiss for the winner!” The shout is followed by a chorus of approving jeers until the whole corral is rocking with it. 

“Kiss for the winner! A kiss for the winner!”

The girl looks petrified, as she throws a wide eyed glance at Goody, she's sixteen if she's a day and her grip around the pipe of her rifle is beginning to crow white knuckled. Goody is trying to joke it away but the shout persists. "The King of Hearts should have a kiss! Such a pretty loser should forfeit a kiss!”

He holds up the card and his open hand to make them go silent. 

“A kiss for the winner,” he announces and the crowd cheers. Goody is trying to catch his eye, shaking his head and the girl looks like she's about to keel over as he puts one hand on her shoulder and the other around the back of Goody’s neck. This will have to be done swiftly and with panache if it's going to work at all. He pushes his unwilling participants closer to each other with himself in the middle. 

“To the winner the spoils!” he shouts, and in the absolute last minute, he winks at the girl and leans over and plants a big kiss on Goody himself. 

It's over in a second, with only the brief impression of Goodnight's soft mouth, the tip of his wet tongue, his breath a warm gasp of surprise caught by Billy’s lips and the scratch of their beards brushing. Brief as the contact might be the sensation stays on his lips, and his heart is lurching oddly in chest as he lets go and makes a theatrical bow. He can hear Goody laughing behind him and the corral erupts in cheers and laughter. Goody is waving and making a show of blushing and fluttering, like a belle kissed at a ball. All in all it’s a good enough performance to let a terrified teenage girl of the hook

He’s never done anything like that before. He can admit that Goody has grown to be his one constant in a shifting world but he’s never thought about any further intimacies between them and now, well he’s not so sure.

“Thank you,” the girl murmurs low as he passes her, briefly squeezing the arm of his jacket and nods. “My pleasure,” he says in a low tone and tries not to think about how much it had been exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They totally went back to the saloon, got stinking drunk and made out like teenagers after this and then didn't talk about it for a month. Just saying.


	4. 13- kissing discreetly

Technically sodomy is a hanging offence, albeit not one anybody cares too much about out here, in the dusty, barely settled places where women are few and the vast lonely spaces can make a man search for companionship in unorthodox places. Nevertheless, they are always careful, keeping the true extent of their affection out of sight. It’s easy most times really, open affection does not come easily to Billy and mostly Goodnight is more like an annoying pebble in his shoe than anyone he wants to gaze at adoringly, even though his devotion for him runs through Billy like a seam of ore. Around others they are sparse in their displays and that doesn't change much after Rose Creek when they take up riding with Sam Chisholm and the others. 

It's rarely all seven of them at the same time in any case, scouting parties and smaller jobs more suited to two or three, but overall there is less time when it's just the two of them, when Billy could nudge his horse next to Goodnight and catch his hand and kiss his knuckles, confident that he had said everything he needed to. And of course they still share canteens and cigarettes and drinks, and when Billy presses his lip to the rim of the glass he can feel the echo of Goodnight's mouth, a phantom trace of its wet heat, and yet, and yet, it grates sometimes. 

To not be able to add his own to the other’s boasts of their conquests and lost loves, to tell the story of how he won Goody and how he's kept him all these years, their tattered bachelor marriage strong as the very foundations underneath them. He sees it's in Goodnight's eyes sometimes, this constraint upon them, chafing like a too small shirt. 

The livery in Amador City is dark and dusty, comforting and safe with its familiar smells and sparse light. It's fitting to meet up with Sam and the others, having ridden a smaller errand with Farady and Red Harvest. Billy could hear Goodnight absently murmur  _ Amador, amo, amas, amat _ , under his breath as they rode in, a faint trace of his school boy days. 

“Bill?” He calls low from the box where he's rubbing down his horse. “You come an’ look at this for a minute? Two pairs of eyes are better than one, after all.”

Billy hangs his saddle in the appointed hooks and goes down the aisle to see what was the matter. The box Goody had picked is furthest from the door, and its dim back there. The horse is chewing hay, already relaxing with her weight on three legs. 

“What am I looking for Goody?” he asks, hand stroking her neck. He's dead tired, it's been a long couple of days and he's not looking forward to Vasquez and Faraday’s rowdy reunion.

“You got to come a little closer to see,” Goody says with a half smile, reaching out and pulling Billy in with him so they are protected from view by the large body of the animal. 

“What?” Billy asks frowning, he can't see anything amiss, and Goodnight fists one hand in his waistcoat and kisses him, sweet and lingering with so much affection it's making Billy’s heart ache. It's one moment of stolen safety, nobody to see them and surrounded by the chewing and swishing of horses. 

Goody let's him go with a smile, teasing and soft, “I could be nothing but I thought it needed a second look,” he says, eyeing Billy through his eyelashes. Billy can't help his answering smile.

“Good call, pays to be careful out here.”

“What the heck are the two of you whispering about down there?” Faraday hollers from the door. “Unless the horse is missing a leg I want to get some food and drink before I die where I stand.”

“We’ll be along,” Goody calls to him, his hand tangling with Billy’s in the dark, safely out of Faraday’s line of sight. “We might have to see a man about a shoe.” 

“It looks pretty serious. We could be some time” Billy adds, smiling with promise at Goody and pulling him close by his belt. 


	5. 48 - A kiss out of habit

48 - A kiss out of habit

Billy finished off the last dregs of his beer and threw his cigarette into the glass, looking down into the sludgy mess. To the left of him Goody was clearly trying to distract his opponents from his lousy cards with a loud and extravagant tale about a Louisiana alligator who loved waltz music. Billy had heard it before, it ended with the gator at a fancy dress party, where it didn't even win best costume. 

Playing cards was boring. It involved sitting still and if you did it properly nobody died. Billy liked dominoes better, but Goody, Sam,Vasquez and Faraday looked intent enough on their game to keep it up all evening. Billy toyed with the idea of discretely dropping his hand into Goody's lap and see where that would get him but as intent as Goody was right now on his game and his story he wasn’t likely to even notice. Or he wouldn't notice until Billy had got started and the he’d _really_ notice.

But no, as enjoyable as it had been, he was still a little sore from the last time he had got Goody all riled up, and they had a long day of riding tomorrow. He shifted a little in his chair just to feel that pleasurable soreness and smirked down into the mess in his beer glass. It had been very pleasurable indeed. He resisted it with a shake of his head, he actually had things to do, he needed to shave and pick up their shirts from the laundry and write a letter to his ma*. Better to go up and get a quiet hour in their room before Goody came to be poured into bed, drunk and sleepy, either giddy with success or pouting from failure and ready to celebrate or be comforted accordingly. He sat for a moment composing a mental list of everything he needed to do before putting the glass down and pushing out his chair.

“You going up?” Goody asked absently, frowning and rearranging his cards and Billy hummed.

“Doing some errands first. I'll be getting our shirts at the landury.”

Faraday put down a card and Goody swore under his breath, and scowled fiercely at his cards, teeth buried in his bottom lip as he without looking away dug around in his shirt pocket for some crumpled bills and handed them to Billy. “For the shirts,” he said and Billy snorted. 

“Not your servant, Goody” he said but took the money anyway. If he had them at least Goodnight couldn’t gamble it away and Goody looked up from his cards to crane his head back to look at Billy.

“I guess you could buy sweets with it?” he suggested with a smile and Billy rolled his eyes.

“I’ll see you in a minute Goody, try not to lose to badly,” he said and Goody reached out his hand tugging at his sleeve. 

Billy had spent hours, days, weeks on his muscle memory. He had trained himself to throw knives with his eyes closed, to hold the sharp blades between his fingers without getting cut, to reload and pull the bolt of a rifle without thinking, so used to absorb the recoil of any sort it no longer registered. But he never realized that Goody was as deeply ingrained into his body as his knives, because when Goody tugged his sleeve, just as he does when he wants to kiss him goodbye when they are alone, it was entirely out of habit he lightly placed a hand on his shoulder and lent down to kiss him.

Goody smelled familiar, his mouth always the same mix of humid breath, cigarettes and whiskey and his lips fitted perfectly to Billy’s, even misaligned like they were now and sometimes Billy thinks he will never get enough of kissing him. “See you in a moment,” he murmured against Goody’s mouth and felt Goody’s answering squeeze of his arm. 

He straightened up and met three various expressions of shock, Faraday’s jaw was hanging down to the table, Vasquez had an expression of unholy glee and Sam looked like his horse had just started waltzing before him. He could feel Goodnight freeze under his hand, and heard him let out his breath in a short terrified gasp, like its been punched out of him. For a second they were frozen to the spot, like foxes in a trap, before something in the back of Billy’s brain kicked into motion.

“Its, um, how we say goodbye.” he said, his voice sounding extremely odd to his own ears. “In, uh, Joseon.”

(Whatever lived at the back of Billy’s brain was a fucking _idiot_, thats what)

Faraday’s eyebrows shot all the way to his hairline, to match his hanging jaw and Sam looked like he was on the verge of crying laughter.

“_Çe vrai_,” Goodnight said in a wobbling voice and Billy felt hot and cold in turns. His hand on Goody’s shoulder tightened, just one wrong move and he was ready to pull Goodnight down behind the next table and shoot the lot of them. It felt like the floor underneath him had swung around to be the ceiling, and his heart was beating so hard in his chest it was painful. His mouth tasted metallic.

“First I’ve ever heard of it,” Sam said mildly, with something that might definitely be laughter bubbling in his voice.

“We weren’t that well acquainted,” Billy said, mechanically straightening further and walking the half step over to Sam’s side, and before he’s even aware that he was going to do it he’s bent down and bussed Sam’s cheek, somewhere in his horrible, bushy side burn. He could see Goody’s eyes grow round like pennies, but now he had committed to this stupid course of action and there was no choice but to carry on. He dutifully smacked the air beside Faraday’s head, not able to bring himself to actually kiss him. It was only Vasquez left and if Billy could get through that and leave then Goodnight can spin whatever he needed to make this go away. Doubtlessly it will involve Billy being very, _very_ foreign.

He bent down to quickly peck Alejandro on the cheek but the man turned in his seat, quick as a snake and grabbed Billy by the waistcoat, hauling him in and kissed him straight on the mouth, warm and lingering with a liberal hint of tongue stroking against the seam of his closed lips. His stubble scratched nicely against Billy’s chin and he tasted of the cigar he was always chewing on, smokey and strong. Vas let him go with a loud pop and set him back on his feet.

“And_ that’s _how we say goodbye in Mexico!” he said, his wide affable smile in Billy’s stunned face, and slapped his shoulder, bursting out in wild coyote laughter. Behind Billy he could hear how Faraday started to laugh helplessly and Sam making a braying noise like a dying donkey, which was probably laughter too. They were all pounding on the table and Billy honestly thought Faraday might pull something if he didn’t calm down soon.

Billy had imagined that he had schooled himself entirely out of blushing at the age of fourteen but now he can feel his face heating up, flaming all the way from his neck to his ears until he’s sure he must be red as blood all over. 

“Ain’t that cordial,” Goodnight said over the laughter and put his cards down on the table with a soft splat, something of a gleam in his eyes, cold and hot at the same time. “On second thought, I think I’d better come with you for those shirts, there’s obviously no knowing what you can get into on your own.”

He got up and steered Billy out of the room gripping his elbow, a slight hectic flush fanning over his cheeks and even in his deeply stunned state Billy could still feel a smirk running up his face. Looked like he’d managed to get Goodnight riled up after all. Still smirking he leaned slightly into the hand on his arm. He guessed Goody could be the one uncomfortable tomorrow, if it came to that.

* In this AU I imagine that Billy Rock’s ma is a lovely little Korean lady in her sixties, alive and well in California and Billy writes her and sends money every month like a good boy. According to those letters he’s living a _very_ settled life as a mine foreman to a surveying crew, with a lovely girl called “Gertrude” married since five years back, no fire fights here, no ma'am. He sure couldn’t tell the difference from a gun to a hole in the ground. And he only drinks on Fridays. He and Goodnight are frantically trying to invent excuses as to why they haven’t had kids yet. Every letter is a balance on a knife’s edge between reassuring her that everything is fine and never, _ever_ enticing her to visit. The child conundrum has occupied them for years now, Goody says they should just invent a couple, while Billy claims that if his mother thought she had grand kids anywhere she would cross the desert by foot to see them, and if they say that “Gertrude” is infertile, she will _also_ come to make sure they drink tea of fennel and stallion urine and never have a genital temperature above 34.7 F (besides Billy would _never_ slander “Gertrude” like that). _His_ suggestion is that they invent a permanent mine-related accident for his testicles to which Goody counters that if Billy has his testicles crushed by a fictional boulder his mother will absolutely come up from California to make sure he is all right, to which Billy said that that wasn’t entirely correct, sure she’d be up with them fast as a shot and bring all their female relatives but only so they could have a good laugh about it.

Meanwhile Billy’s ma is no fool and she can see that the postage stamp is different for every letter and knows there is no mining company that would let an Asian man be foreman over a surveying crew and that Gertrude doesn’t sound like she knows the first thing about keeping a house, but she figures that at least he’s alive and well and as long as she can tell him she loves him and is proud over him in every letter there’s no harm done. She can tell him on her deathbed. She figures it’ll be funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Billy's ma. If I was a better writer I would absolutely write like a La Cage aux Folle style farce where Billy's ma comes to visit and they initially force Emma to be "Gertrude", which goes about as well as expected until Goody crashes the party in a dress.
> 
> (the teeny tiny caveat that you obviously don't kiss people who dont want to be kissed, dont take life advice from fic kids)


	6. 31 - after a small rejection

31- After a small rejection

Billy had never had somebody like this before, someone who shared everything, from food to clothes, being a team, a part of something, a Billy-and-Goodnight, stronger, not because he was self sufficient, but because he had someone to rely on. It was overwhelming sometimes, it was too much. Some things were still not easy to share.

Billy had caught whatever the hell kind of bug it was a couple of towns back and finally he was so tired and sore he could barely get in the saddle, his teeth chattering and his shoulders and head aching with every step. Goody made the decision to turn them around and go back. It might only be a flu, but better to be sick in bed than on horseback.

The hotel really wasn’t that much better, Billy was shivering in fever, going from so cold he was shaking one moment to so hot he was sweating through the sheets in the next, only now and then emerging from his blankets to drink a mouthful of water and then bury himself again.

By evening he was curled up in bed in acute misery, aches from his shoulders to his hips to his teeth and Goodnight made a soothing sound, crawling into bed next to his scalding body, He fitted himself close, with his knees tucked under Billy’s and arms wrapped around his chest, one hand gently rubbing the tender muscles of Billy’s back. After a while he started dropping drowsy kisses on his neck, nuzzling along the tendons. Normally Billy loved this, he would squirm closer and press his ass against Goodnight until there wasn’t a hair's breadth of space in between them but now he only made an impatient sound and twitched a little.  
  
“Poor sweetheart,” Goody murmured, hand stroking along his shoulder and flank, coming to rest on his hip and Billy couldn’t help it, he flinched in discomfort. His skin felt too tight, too hot and even that gentle touch was painful. He tried closing his eyes, curling up even farther away but Goody snuggled closer instead.

“Goody,” he said after a while, voice hoarse, still facing away.

  
“Yeah, cher? Can I get you anything?"

  
“Do you think… could you?”

  
“Anything at all, sweetheart,” Goody murmured sleepily, face buried in Billy’s neck.

  
“Could you sleep in the other bed tonight? Everything hurts and I just want to be left alone.”

“Oh,”Goody said, the hand on Billy’s hip slunk away like a kicked dog. Billy could feel the cold draft as Goodnight rolled out of the bed and his bare feet whispering over the floor as he got into the bed opposite.

“Whew, colder than Hades over here,” he hissed but Billy was already half asleep, his eyelids feeling heavy. Goodnight shifted around a little trying to get comfortable, the sheets chilly and slightly damp. Billy had been so warm he'd almost been scalding, and his bed already enviably cosy, plus Billy in it, and Goodnight barely knew anything better that sleeping close to him, skin to skin. Goodnight sighed and stared at the ceiling and tried to not read too much into it. Just because he loved sleeping next to Billy didn't mean he felt the same thing. He stared up at the ceiling, possibly Billy would want to sleep alone all the time from now on, and Goodnight wouldn't be able to fall asleep with his nose buried in Billy’s neck where the smell of cigarettes, opium, horse and his skin was the strongest. When he looked over to the other bed Billy had turned to face him, his eyes two dark slits in his face. He really didn't look too good, his hair sweaty, and his eyelids swollen, and a red flush all over his face.

Billy sniffed and snaked a hand out of the blanket cocoon reaching out for Goody.

“Here” he said and Goody reached out his hand across the floor and Billy grabbed it in his and pulled it close and dropped a kiss on the knuckles. His lips were chapped and hot.

“Thanks,” he said. “I'll see you in the morning?” And suddenly all of Goody's fears felt unfounded. Billy needed to sleep and Goody had long since decided that if there was anything he could give Billy he would.

“See you in the morning, cher. Feel better.”  
Billy nodded almost imperceptibly and Goody stayed for a moment, watching his man, his beautiful stubborn man who for the first time had shown even a shred of vulnerability. It was, as almost everything when it came to giving Billy what he wanted, quite easy once he'd thought about it. 


	7. 25 - as a yes

A Magnificent Seven - Jane Eyre AU which Lazaefair inspired me to develop, where Billy is Jane, Bouge is Mr. Rochester and Goodnight Bertha (Antoinette) Mason.

It was still with a flushed glow from the pleasant evening that Billy walked out into the park. The apple orchard was in bloom, pink and white and when the last beams of the sun filtered through, one could imagine walking among the very clouds of heaven.   
Or at least Goodnight would say so, and Billy smiled to imagine the rapturous praise he’d heap upon the flowers, absently rubbing his hand over his heart to try to soothe the ache that always came when he thought of Goodnight. The man should be here, with him, in the sweet smelling evening, and not locked away. The bright thread of their connection felt so precious to Billy, yet still so tenuous. The threat of his departure from Thornfield loomed large and Goodnight, there were still so many things he refused to tell Billy. If Mr Bouge married, both Billy and Adele would be sent packing, and loath as he was to admit it, Thornfield felt like home. He has made friends here, with Mrs Cullen and Mr. Horne, and the rest of the staff, and then of course, Goodnight. It was as much of a home Billy’s ever had and the prospect of leaving felt like tearing his heart out by the roots.

Instead of thinking on that he tried to divert himself with the imaginary conversation he might have with Goodnight, and how he might relay this conversation later to him in person, and so almost make him wander the flowering orchard with Billy tonight. He’s sat down to light a cigarette, being forbidden to smoke in the house where Adele might see him, when over the sweet smell of flowers came the strong scent of Mr. Bouge’s cigar. He’d been wandering apparently in the same purpose of taking the air and the last bit of sunlight. 

“So there you are,” he smiled, mouth curling sardonically under the mustache when he saw Billy. “Like a fairy creature ensconced in his bower, Puck or Ganymede himself.” 

Billy smiled at the compliment, they always made him feel wrong footed somehow, but it’s not much he can say, and they were kindly meant. 

“You’ve apple flowers in your hair, my dear,” Bouge said. “They are quite flattering your complexion, like white stars on an endless night sky,” and Billy supposed that’s what he got for walking out without his hat. 

He was discreetly tucking away his cigarette as Mr. Bouge didn't like him to smoke. 

“I trust your sojourn away from us was agreeable?” And Billy assented but went cold as Bouge continued. “And soon of course, you will have to leave us permanently.”

“Is, is it settled then?” Billy asked in alarm. “I shall advertise immediately and meanwhile…” he had almost said, put my faith your good will to harbour me here, but he knew enough of Bouge to know that the man held no good will, only debts to be paid. To be parted from Adele, from Emma and Goodnight, he had to turn his face away to regain his composure. 

“Well, not quite settled yet,” Bouge said carelessly, “but I imagine it will be quite soon, very soon I shall be a married man, and little Adele will have to pack herself away to school, and so there will be no need for you. Does this pain you little creature? Have you grown so attached to us here at Thornfield?”

“I owe that I’m very attached to Adele, and of course Mrs. Cullen, and to the environs and to Thornfield and.. and all of its inhabitants.” It was only long practice from the Reeds and Lowood that kept Billy’s voice from breaking, and staying even.

“Even to me, who taunts you so?” Bouge asked curiously and to that Billy could at first make no answer. He enjoyed Bouge’s company, there was little doubt of that, but why he enjoyed it was harder to say. Was it the verbal sparring, the rapid back and forth and the knowledge that Bouge was level-headed and callous enough to match himself? It might even be the flattery of attention, of having to mind his every step that made Billy feel sharp and alive. 

“I shall miss our conversations,” he said cautiously, but perhaps not the taunts, he added quietly to himself, and Bouge laughed as if he had heard the silent addendum.   
“You shall be glad to know I have made provisions for you,” he said “and inquired after a new position.” Billy’s ears perked up, if they were acquaintances of Bouge it might be possible for him to once in a while see Adele or even be under the same roof as Goodnight. If he was lucky he might even spot him from the windows. 

“Oh yes,” Bouge continued in his smooth baritone, “A Mrs. O’Gall, with five sons in Bitternut Lodge, Connacth, Ireland require a tutor. You should like that I’m sure, Ireland is a capital country, though I would never go there myself. I’m sure you will be very happy there,”

“In Ireland?” Billy asked, barely able to believe his ears, oh Ireland. “That’s too far away,” came out of his mouth before he could control it. 

“Too far away? From what?”  
From Goodnight, was Billy’s first thought but he managed to bite his lip. “From England, and and Thornfield and my relations and..”

“And from me little sprite, do I come into this calculation of distance?”

Billy bit his lip and didn’t answer, only let his eyes fall to the ground. Again he found himself backed into a conversational dead end, damned if he committed himself and equally damned if he protested to strenuously. In the end he made no reply, choosing to let Bouge believe what suited him. Just like the vast and briny Irish sea which would soon separate him from everything familiar, so a cold ocean of differences separated him from Bouge and prevented him to answer as he would like.

“It’s a long way,” he said instead.

“We shall be sure be parted forever, for to such a godforsaken place as Ireland I will never go, however good friends we have been here,” Bouge said, contemplating the smoke rising from his cigar. “And I would imagine that causing me such a blow would be quite pleasing to one so heartless as you.”

Billy almost gasped in surprise because the jab was so sudden, and the accusation stung. He would not describe himself as heartless, in fact in this very moment, his heart felt like a bruised pulpy fruit inside his rib cage. It is not him who has made advances at every step only to be bruisingly dismissive whenever the attention was returned.

“Such was not my intention, and to go so far would not be my choice,” he answered and Bouge smiled like a great hunting cat. 

“So you say, yet your eagerly accept the opportunity, happy to be away from me as fast as you can?”

And Billy wanted to stomp his feet. What choice did he have? To turn down Bouge’s offer might very well end him with a terminated contract and no reference, Bouge has more than once hinted that he would do it.

“I’m hurt my sweet William, so I am. I had thought that I was dearer to you than that, but now I see I’m only so much dust you can’t wait to scuff from your shoes.”

Frustration and sorrow threatened tears to his eyes and Bouge must see it, however he turned away and bowed his head, and all Billy could hope for was for the interview to end soon, to let him soothe his ravaged heart in peace.

“And for myself I shall be married to the lovely Mr. McGann, though why any man should make such a provision for himself is beyond me, but no, come here instead and sit with me. Let us talk a little together, about such pleasant things as your coming voyage and new position, as friends ought.”  
They had reached their accustomed bench under the old chestnut tree, which was now a white bower of flowers in the growing dusk, Billy sitting himself down next to Mr. Bouge, and watching the stars spring out on the sky one by one, dreading how to relay this to Goodnight, his emotions turned so topsy turvy he hardly knew where he was.

“It makes me sad to send my little friend on such a wearying journey, but needs must, and why should I put myself out for you? Are you anything to me, besides a vexing creature, can you answer me that?”

And Billy had to bite his lip and shake his head, because of course he could not. Sometimes he had hoped, almost in spite of himself, and sometimes he had foolishly thought, that Bouge might make him some sort of offer, when his dark, hungry eyes had watched him in the fire light, he had thought he knew that look, thought he could not be mistaken.

“Because,” Bouge continued, “I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you—especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string in your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will snap, and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you,—you’d forget me.”

“So you say sir, yet you know me so little,” Billy said finally stung, his composure breaking. “I shall never forget Thornfield Hall, and I should never wish myself parted from this place. I grieve to leave Thornfield: I love Thornfield:—I love it, because I have lived in it a full and delightful life,—momentarily at least. I have not been trampled on. I have not been petrified. I have not been buried with inferior minds, and excluded from every glimpse of communion with what is bright and energetic and high. I have talked, face to face, with what I reverence, with what I delight in,—with an original, a vigorous, an expanded mind,” he paused to draw breath, realising how utterly precipitous it would be to admit open knowledge of Goodnight, and ploughed on, “and it strikes me with terror and anguish to feel I absolutely must be torn from it forever. I see the necessity of departure; and it is like looking on the necessity of death.” It was the most passionate he had ever been in Bouge’s company, tears hanging at the edges of his eyes.

“Where do you see the necessity?” Bouge asked, with half a smile under his mustache.

“Where?” Billy answered, incredulous. “You, sir, have placed it before me.”

“In what shape?”

“In the shape of Mr McGann; a noble and beautiful man of your own position,—your groom.”

“My groom!” Bouge laughed, “What groom? I have none!”

“But you will have,” Billy interjected, hurt and confused

“Yes;—I will!—I will!” He set his teeth.

“Then I must go:—you have said it yourself,” Billy said and flew to his feet.

“No: you must stay! I swear it—and the oath shall be kept.”

Billy was momentarily struck speechless in frustration, grief and confusion, from being snubbed and flattered in turns, and made to turn away but Bouge got to his feet and caught him easily, laughing.

“No, don’t struggle so little bird, you’ll do yourself an injury. Just be still and hear me out.” 

Billy ceased to struggle in his arms and allowed himself to be gathered in, breathless and shivering when Bouge kissed him, his mouth warm and sure. It was hungry and devouring but the way his tongue stroked along the seam of Billy’s lips was still a gentle invite. Bouge was warm and solid, secure against the storms that had tosses and turned Billy. When he released him Billy was panting, helplessly licking his own mouth, to chase the phantom sensation there.

“I am a free human being with an independent will,” he said, his voice shaking badly. “Which I now exert to leave you.”

He tried to push Bouge away but the man would not let him go - “And your will shall decide your destiny,” he said: “I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions.”

Billy stared at him in utter disbelief. To make such an offer to a person in his position, penniless, friendless was not in keeping with the character he knew. “You play a farce, which I merely laugh at.” he hedged, but he stopped struggling.

“No farce,” Mr. Bouge said warmly. “But in earnest, say yes. I must have you for my own - entirely my own. Will you be mine? Say yes quickly!”

Billy stared at him speechless for a moment, unable to comprehend the change in circumstance and then melted into his arms, caught at last. This kiss was different, Billy succumbing to the strange pull of being possessed, his kiss a definitive yes, where his words could not suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone thinks Mr Darcy's first proposal in Pride and Prejudice is the worst proposal in literary history, they have not read Jane Eyre. Rochester starts with insulting her, goes on to fire her, then tells her she has to go to Ireland, which at this time was the end of the fucking world, then says he will marry someone else and then asks her why she is crying. Mr Rochester is a dick.


	8. 38- running out of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magnificent Seven-Jane Eyre AU, with Billy as Jane and Goodnight as Bertha or Antoinette Mason. Bouge is Mr Rochester. Will at some point be a full story and not not just a prompt. 
> 
> Last one for this round, thank you everyone who prompted, I didn't get through them all this time but they might crop up later.

  
Goody was sitting in his usual spot, crawled up into the window seat, leaning his face against the glass, hugging his knees. He smiled when he spotted Billy though, the smile lighting his pale face from the inside, like a candle in a lantern.

  
“William” he said, shifting his feet so Billy could fit into the nook with him and Billy's heart leapt and twitched like a fish in his chest. He wanted to ask him to call him Billy, wanted to hear his name out of Goodnight’s mouth, and hope that maybe when he was alone he would repeat it, as sometimes Billy did, murmuring Goodnight’s name to himself, feeling his tongue stroke the syllables, saying as a talisman against any ills, but even here, when they were so far away from any social mores, it still felt to bold, too much of an imposition to ask.

He sat down opposite Goodnight setting the wine and the glasses between their feet, smiling at his surprise. It was for a moment easy to imagine that he was back at at Lowood with Faraday or Vasquez, or any of the older boys, sneaking them books or food, the deprivation turning it into an illicit feast. And feast it was, there was no mistaking how Goodnight was eagerly leaning forward, with rapt anticipation on his face. Billy felt a genuine thrill down his spine to be able to bring him such joy through the simple act of bringing him books. Even so, it was difficult to resist the temptation against teasing.

“I’m afraid Adele has had many lessons this week, so there was simply not time to bring you a book from the library,” he said, just to see the little frown appear on his brow, “So I had to get three instead,” he smiled and handed them over from where they had been hidden behind his back, the smile breaking over Goodnight’s face even more brilliant.

“I would call you a sly creature, if your misdirection didn’t make me so pleased,” he said, eagerly turning the books over, pouring over their title pages.

“There are other reasons to be pleased, I have a piece of excellent news,” Billy said, grinning. “No, look through your books first, and we can talk later.” Billy nodded to the way Goodnight’s hands couldn’t refrain from stroking the spines and it was only once they were fully acquainted Billy poured his pilfered wine into the cups.

“No you must tell me your good news, but carefully and you must remember that I don’t have much occasion to be joyous so tell me slowly, so I might enjoy it better,” Goodnight said.

“I’ll not leaveThornfield Hall,” and Goodnight turned white first, and then red as a rose.

“That is too good news to tell me so quickly,” he said. “So much good fortune all at once will go to my head and make me quite insensate.”

Billy knew he ought to tell Goodnight just what had altered his circumstances, that he had agreed to marry Bouge, and that he would not be leaving Thornfield Hall as it would be his home but he found that he was reluctant to tell Goodnight, unwilling to reveal the true nature of his circumstances. I will not this night, he thought. This night I will pretend that we are both boys at Lowood and that there is nothing more pressing than our vague hopes for the future and no greater joy than knowing we will always be good friends.

It was a merry evening. The wine gave a flush to Goodnight’s pale face and he seemed warmer, more alive and less a ghost than he ever had before, telling Billy the most unbelievable tales of his relative’s home in Louisiana and nobody was more surprised than Billy when his laughter, that Goodnight was so skillful in calling forth, abruptly ended in a sob.

“Mr Rocks? William?” Goodnight said, taken aback, his hand suddenly on Billy’s sleeve, Billy pressing his free hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the choked sobs.

“Please,” Billy said, “would you please call me Billy?”

Goodnight nodded and squeezed his wrist and Billy wanted to tell him but what came out instead was: “I’ve sold my soul and now I can’t go back on the bargain.”  
  
Goodnight stared at him in confusion and Billy was abruptly horribly aware that their time was running out, that after his engagement with Mr Bouge became known the easy intimacy of their friendship could be no more, and even if he had secured himself against the risk of being sent away from Thornfield Hall and Goodnight their time together like this had come to an end.

“I…” he started to say and slid to somewhat unsteadily to the floor, having drunk more of the wine than he was used to, and when Goodnight murmured “Billy”, and looked at him with soft concern all the careful barriers Billy had erected around himself broke.

It was less an act of will, and more a moment of instinct and impulse that lifted him on his toes to press his mouth to Goodnight’s lips. It was a clumsy brush and for a second Billy felt the full horror of his schoolboy infatuation before Goodnight’s hands came up to cradle his jaw and he kissed back, both of them helplessly caught in the rush. Billy had never felt like this, for once losing his cool head, his heart beating so hard and the connection jumping between them like sparks from a fire. Goodnight’s mouth was warm, and wet, exactly as generous as his full lips had promised and for a long while Billy was aware of nothing else than his acute joy, burning him up from the inside, like a star. It was only when they separated that he remembered himself, and realised how badly he had erred. As promised to somebody and now fully cognizant how his own weakness he could never see Goodnight again, or entertain his friendship.   
“I...I’m so sorry,” he stammered, nearly unable to watch how Goodnight’s eyes went from dreamy contentment to hurt confusion. “I should never, I presumed too much..”   
His mouth would no longer obey him, the lips which had kissed Goodnight unwilling to utter the words which could hurt him and Billy knew himself beaten and with a final “I’m sorry,” turned on his heel and fled.


End file.
